The Tattered Verge

A world set apart by ancient forces long ago to serve as a prison for the most powerful of foes (3).

Now its creaks and crevices are weakened, and if it will hold much longer, no one knows (2).

It almost gave out, once, to Don Joswee's dark assault
But the Allmother's heart and soul patched the cracks and sealed the faults
Now we stand on stitched-up land where the Titans used to tread
But patches are just patches, and some like to pick at threads...

A world set apart by ancient forces long ago to serve as a reminder for the most noble of woes

O' auspicious seed
Swallow'd by the giants' greed
Tend it well, lest sprout a weed
Forged in fire of Man's misdeed

A world set apart by ancient forces long ago to serve as a warning that unceasingly grows
Now its frosts and fires are beaconed and if any can see or seek it, none can know.